


the only thing that's real

by Merideath



Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Community: trope_bingo, Darcy is a little bit crazy, Dark, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Empathy, F/M, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Instability, Mild Sexual Content, Minor Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Minor Jane Foster/Thor, Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Nursery Rhymes, Sharing a Bed, Telepathy, Tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-24
Updated: 2013-03-31
Packaged: 2017-12-03 11:47:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/697922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merideath/pseuds/Merideath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What happened?” he asks the girl, frowning as he catches sight of her hands.  Her nails are ragged and torn, knuckles bruised, skin broken, slender wrists ringed in bruises, and rubbed raw. </p><p>“I don’t remember,” she says and frowns as she looked down at her own hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. mechanical spiders and the amnesiac girl

**Author's Note:**

> I got bit by a very peculiar plotbunny after seeing nessismore's [**graphic**](http://the-yellow-ranger.tumblr.com/post/39997793674/what-happened-i-dont-remember) and this is the result. The fic is over halfway written and should be four or possibly five chapters in length. 
> 
> Thank you to [**katertots**](http://archiveofourown.org/users/katertots/pseuds/katertots) for being my personal cheerleader and enabler for this fic as well as my beta. 
> 
> p.s. I really suck at tags and summaries.
> 
> title taken from Hurt (the Johnny Cash version because it's my favourite)

They were fighting mechanical spiders, large red bulbous bodies, dripping acid from their bellies as they crawled along on jointed metal legs. The battle had mostly devolved into Iron Man tossing spiders up in the air for Hulk to smash and toss against the warehouse buildings surrounding them. Natasha left in a black SUV before she did damage to Stark for telling her they are killing her babies. Steve is pretty sure there will be some form of recompense later.

"Cap?"

"Yeah, Hawkeye?"

"There’s a girl on your three. She’s headed right into Hulk’s homerun zone."

"On it," Steve replies but his feet are already moving, running across the empty back lot, dodging round the burned out shells of cars and the crumpled bodies of the plague of mechanical spiders, some still twitching as they haemorrhaged acid onto the asphalt. He gets to her just in time to raise his shield and block the stray body of a spider the Hulk has absently tossed as Tony leads him further away.

“Are you alright, ma’am? Ma’am?”

“Help me,” the girl says, lip trembling as she tilts her head back to look up at the sky. Her eyes are dark, pupils dilated so wide they appear black with only the thinnest ring of silvery blue. “There should be rainbows,” the girl murmurs, forehead wrinkled, teeth scraping against her bottom lip.

“What happened?” he asks, frowning as he catches sight of her hands. Her nails are ragged and torn, knuckles bruised, skin broken, slender wrists ringed in bruises, and rubbed raw. A small knife, covered in blood is held loosely in her hands. She is covered in dirt; blood dripping sluggishly from a wound hidden in her mass of tangled hair. More bruises circle around her neck and disappear under the collar of her grey gown. The gown itself is covered in spatters of blood and a single bloody hand print, too large to belong to the girl.

“I don’t remember,” she says and frowns as she looked down at her own hands. The knife falls with a clatter beside her bare feet and she turns her hands palm up. She reaches a blood covered hand up towards his face, and he catches her arm below the bruised and reddened flesh around her wrist. She frowns at his gloved hand, head tilting to the side. “The needles, they hurt. The light it burned. They took it all away. They made me forget. They took me away.”

"Who did this to you? Who hurt you?"

"I don’t remember," the girl says, voice barely above a whisper. She surges forward, her free hand brushing the backs of her fingers against his cheek. Her touch tickles and feels strangely warm, despite her fingers feeling icy against his skin. Her brow furrows and her lips form the ghost of a smile as he pulls her hand away from his face. He watches in alarm as her eyes roll back and he barely has time to get a better hold of her before she collapses unconscious against him.

He shifts his hands as he lowers her to the ground, and his gloves encounter something hard along the ridges of her spine. He turns the girl on her side, leaning over her, and he sees a small metallic object very much like a miniature version of the red-bodied spiders they've been fighting today. There are no legs and the thing looks battered and broken, the skin around the mechanism is bruised and covered in drying blood. “Hawkeye, Iron Man, we have a problem.”


	2. uncomfortable chairs and reflections of frailty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Infirmary hallways and putting names to faces.

He is sitting in a small uncomfortable chair swirling the last gritty dregs of coffee in a blue cup with the SHIELD logo on it, waiting for the door to open opposite him where the girl has been taken into surgery. He hates this level of HQ, the smell of disinfectant that permeates the air. He shifts and the chair creaks in protest. He hears the nearly silent approach of feet on the tiles and turns his head as Natasha nods to him in greeting. “Anything?”

“We followed the girl’s bloody footprints back to a warehouse a few blocks down from where the spiders swarmed. It appears she made her escape while we played catch with metal bugs. SHIELD has more agents there now tearing the rest of the warehouse apart.” Natasha hands over a small SHIELD tablet that he takes carefully and presses his palm to the screen. “There are photographs on there of the initial sweep. The place is full of scientific equipment Stark and Banner are looking over. Much of it appears to be damaged. There were heavy shackles on a medical exam table. Two bodies have been recovered; one shot point blank, one bullet through the left eye and another through his chest piercing his heart. The other bled out, a scalpel through his neck severing the artery,” Romanov lists while Steve through the first file of images. Steve glances back to Natasha, his eyebrows raised at the slight smile twitching at the corners of her mouth. “We have a name.”

Steve closes the file of warehouse pictures and opens the next file; a picture of the girl being operated on stares back at him. Dark hair obscured by a brown hat, thick black glasses covering her face, bright eyes and a mischievous smile. “Darcy Lewis?”

“She has been missing for twelve months and thirteen days. She was a student that was involved in the incident in New Mexico. She was Dr. Foster’s intern when Thor fell to earth.”

“Dr. Foster? How could she be missing for a year and no one noticed?”

“She had signed all relevant nondisclosure agreements to SHIELD’s satisfaction and returned to Culver once her internship ended and Dr. Foster decided not to keep her on as an assistant. Her parents died in a car accident when she was fourteen, she was a ward of the state of California until she got a full scholarship to Culver. Her roommates believed she had left to go back to New Mexico to study the stars with Dr. Foster. SHIELD simply lost track of her.” Natasha frowns slightly and tilts her head to the side as the door Steve is perched in front of opens, and the slight frame of Dr. Anderson steps out into the hall.

“Excuse me Captain Rogers, Agent Romanov, the patient is in recovery, under heavy sedation. The mechanism appears to have been injecting drugs directly into subarachnoid space the interface between the vascular tissue and the cerebrospinal fluid and is active in the-

“Can you say that in English, doctor?”

“The mechanism’s filaments, the spider’s legs, had pierced her spine to inject drugs into her spinal fluid. It’s ready to be sent to Dr. Banner for further examination.” Dr. Anderson is grim as he speaks and the small man holds out a manila folder to Natasha who flicks through the girls medical file and copies of the x-rays showing the mechanism appeared to be spider like; its thin legs had dug through skin and tissue to attach along the girl’s spine.

“What else, Dr. Anderson?”

“The removal of the mechanism should have killed her. In fact, the damage she managed to inflict upon it should have incapacitated her.”

“And?” Natasha asks, eyebrow twitching.

“She is healing.”

“Isn’t that what’s supposed to happen,” Steve asks and shoves his hands into his pockets.

“She is healing at an accelerated rate. Captain Rogers, much akin to the rate in which your injuries heal themselves.”  
.....

Forty-seven hours later Darcy Lewis is awake sitting up on the bed in an observation room. She is dressed in grey standard issue SHIELD sweat pants and a matching grey t-shirt. She looks at her hands, brow wrinkled slightly, frowning at the IV and wires from monitors stuck across her body. She yanks the needle out and tears the tape off her skin holding the small electrodes to her.

The machine beside the bed begins to wail and she covers her head with her arms, and hums tunelessly as doctors rush in. She does not move when they switch the monitor off but when Dr. Anderson’s hand grazes against her bare skin, she jumps up throws herself in the corner of the room, bare hands and feet on the floor, tangled hair a dark wave obscuring pale face and haunted eyes.

She shakes her head when the doctor approaches a needle held in his hand. “The needles pierce but my bite is fierce,” she whispers, voice oddly inflected. Then she is a blur of movement, body wrapping around the doctor, the needle in her hands. “I do not care for tea today,” she hisses and throws herself away from the doctor in a tumble of limbs and tangled hair. She twists the needle in her hand, depressing the stopper leaving a small puddle of sedative on the floor between her feet. The room empties but she still hears voices in the hall, whispers behind the mirrored wall.

She tilts her head, eyes swinging to the reflection of the dark haired girl in the glass. “Reflections of frailty,” she whispers and presses her fingertips to the glass and begins walking them across the smooth surface. “The itsy bitsy mecha-spiders crawled all through the town. Down came the Avengers and smashed them through the ground.” On the word ground she smiles, bright and sharp and smashes her fist through the two way mirror, spider web cracks spiraling out before the glass shatters and scatters across the floor. “Clean up on aisle seven.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did tell you this was a weird plotbunny right? I'm pretty sure I did. The next chapter will be up in a couple of days I think.


	3. dancing in hallways and the washing of hair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy roams the halls. Steve is equal turns heroic and unnerved and gets the responsibility of taking care of our beautifully broken girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enormous thanks to Katertots for beta'ing and handholding. Huge thanks to twistedingenue for listening to me whine about action scenes and how crazy Darcy should be.

“Miss Lewis, do you understand me? Darcy, please put down the gun and let Agent Wesley go,” Coulson says behind the protective barrier of Barton and Natasha. Both have their weapons out and trained on the girl.

“Do you know what happens when you rip the wings from a butterfly?” she asks with a flutter of the hand that isn’t holding the gun to Agent Wesley’s temple. “You tell the butterfly to be a caterpillar, but it can’t. The butterfly is dead. Blood all over the pretty tiles. The girl is dead. They put the needles in. They put the spider on her back.” The girl’s voice has that same slightly disjointed cadence from when he found her bleeding in the street.

Steve shifts closer, feet silent on the tiled floor, and the girl shifts her hold on agent Wesley; just a flick of her wrist and the butt of the gun smashes against Wesley’s temple and the agent’s head jerks to the side. The girl is spinning and there is an animalistic grace to the movement as she kicks off from the wall and launches herself at him. He blocks the hand with the gun by wrapping his hand around her forearm and he twists to avoid her knee headed for his groin. His palm tingles against her skin and a shudder goes through the girl; all the tension washes away and her brow furrows, blue eyes blinking slowly before focusing on his own.

He shifts her around to wrap an arm around her, immobilizing her against his chest so she’s facing away from him, but she makes no move to resist. “The star spangled man with a plan dances with the broken girl,” Darcy murmurs in his arms. “Remember when I made you ride the Cyclone on Coney Island? What does that mean?”

Steve startles and looks down at the girl in his arms. “What?” he asks and she tilts her head back on his shoulder. His hand and arm feel warm where he touches her bare skin and it feels like there is something missing—a thought at the edge of his mind that he can’t quite grasp.

“I don’t feel well. Can I have a lollipop?”

“Drop the gun, Miss Lewis, and we will get you a lollipop,” Coulson says from the end of the hall.

“Not a green one. I don’t like the green ones.”

“Barton will go fetch you a jar full of them, I promise. Now drop the gun so the Captain can let you go.”

“Okay,” Darcy replies and opens her hand, the gun falling to the floor. Steve kicks it a safe distance away before unwrapping his arms from her and taking a careful half step back, eyes flicking from the girl to the trio of Natasha, Clint, and Coulson down the hall. “Can I be real now?”

"Captain, please step aside," Coulson says, face grim. 

"It's alright. We aren't going to hurt you," he says, ignoring Coulson and focusing on the girl as she runs her hands through her ragged hair. Suddenly she shifts and steps up beside him, her hand slipping behind Steve's back. He feels her fingers curl against his collar as she seeks out his skin. There is that same odd frisson and warmth and the girl makes a pleased humming sound.

.....

Darcy stands naked alone in the small bathroom of Steve’s quarters; she can hear him pacing back and forth in the room beyond and somehow that makes things better. Makes the hall, and Coulson, and agents all melt away. “She’s your problem now,” she tells her reflection. 

She purses her lips and drags her fingers along the mirror over her reflection. Her fingers tracing words on the glass against the reflection of her mouth. Names. Secrets. Scars. All her scars that tell her story have melted away. The history on her skin is gone, the fragments of memory, some sharp and biting as the glass they pulled from her wrist after her attempt to escape. Others are wrapped in cotton and soaked in darkness.

The scar on her knee from jumping out of the oak tree in the fields behind the house she grew up in. The house Darcy grew up in. She isn’t Darcy anymore. She rubs her hand along the smooth skin of her abdomen where the scar where they stapled up her stomach after the car accident. She can’t remember the accident, only blood, oil, and screaming. “Scooped the memories out, poured new ones in their place. Ironed out the wrinkles but not the stains.”

She smoothes her hands over her hips along her sides to cup her breasts, remembering stretch marks that had been angry red marks when she was twelve that faded to silvery spider webs . “The scars are gone, the girl is gone,” she says pressing her forehead against the mirror, breath fogging up the glass. Everything is gone and she isn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. She presses her lips to the glass, digs her nails into arms, scratching red furrows against pale skin; presses down on the bruises that have bloomed from the fight in the hall, the healing cuts on her hand from the broken mirror.

She closes her eyes and falters, breath hitching on a sob as she turns her back on the ghost in the mirror, and climbs into the shower stall. She presses the button and curls into the bottom of the shower letting the water pour over her body and hits her head against the tiles. She doesn’t know how long she sits there under the water, but eventually the door opens and Steve calls out her name.

“Darcy? Are you ok?” he calls from the doorway, standing half in the room, half ready to bolt again.

“I don’t think I am. I don’t think I am me anymore,” she confesses and wonders if he hears her. She hears him mutter to himself and then suddenly he is there fully clothed and in the shower’s spray, bent down, his hand on her chin tilting it up. She shivers at the contact and despite the barrier of the water, threads of his mind slip through. Worry, embarrassment, a whirling tangle of brightly coloured emotions she can’t hope to decipher. Ice and cold that makes her shiver and wrap her arms around him off setting his balance till he falls beside her.

He huffs out a laugh and untangles himself from her, grabbing the bottle of shampoo and holding it up for her. She nods and he washes her hair, thick fingers combing through the tangles. She calms at his touch, moves as he directs, letting him rinse her hair and pour conditioner. His fingers massage her scalp, the back of her neck, her temples. She feels the disjointed ebb and flow of Steve’s emotions and thoughts ripple through him. She wants to untangle them, follow where each thought twines with the next, but instead lets them all slip through her mind.

The feel of his mind brushing against hers is soothing like his hands in her hair. She turns her head and brushes her mouth against his, flicks her tongue out to taste his bottom lip. The kiss is quick and he makes a startled noise, his thoughts tangling again.

She stands and breaks the connection between them, steps out of shower and grabs the towel wrapping it around herself. She ignores the pile of new clothing neatly laid out for her and rummages in the hamper, finding a shirt that smells of Steve. She drops the towel and pulls the shirt on, slowly doing up the buttons. Steve talks to her; his voice is soothing, but she doesn’t listen to the words, she counts them instead, wiggling her toes in the rug.

Steve gently takes her hands checking the healing cuts. Worry, exasperation, discomfort, jangle against her nerves. She lets them slide past, closes her eyes, and lets Steve fuss over her hands. He is warm and bright, and she just wants to curl up and make a nest in the tangle of his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. I told you it was a twisted plotbunny though. I hope you are all still with me. I've been in a fluster getting this chapter finished for you. The next chapter will be a bit longer as I have a very busy few days in the real world.
> 
> There will be more craziness in the next chapter but there will be some answers too. Thank you all for reading.


	4. words that rhyme and the inappropriateness of being a teddy bear

Steve watches in bemusement as Darcy take her hands away from him and wanders off into his apartment clad only in his plaid shirt, not sure if he regrets usurping Coulson’s order or not by taking charge of the girl and bringing her back to the tower. He strips off his wet shirt and drops it in the basket as she walks out the door and down the hall into his bedroom. He digs a t-shirt out of a drawer and pulls it over his head.

He can hear Darcy’s voice as she sings softly to herself, and when he walks into the living room he finds her with a book open in her lap running her fingertips lightly over the pages, a deep frown on her face. She huffs in frustration, closes the book, and places it on the table. “Words, words, words. So many words and they don’t rhyme. They twist and turn and bite. Bite. Bite,” she says to herself, twisting the button on the cuff of his shirt. He feels a twisting in his gut and knew he couldn’t have left her there. Not with that terrified look she’d had on her face when Dr. Anderson approached them in the hall. Her nails had scratched against his skin and she had shaken her head, but no words poured from her open mouth.

“Darcy, do you want something to eat? I sure could go for some sandwiches,” he says instead of asking what’s wrong with the book.

“Cake?” Darcy asks with a tilt of her head, fingers twisting in her long hair.

“Sandwiches first, then I’ll find you some cake.”

“Patty cake, patty cake, Star Spangled Man,” the girl replies with a twist of her lips and suddenly bounces onto her feet. Steve looks away from sight of her pale thighs and clears his throat, leading the way into the fancy kitchen. He still isn’t used to living in his tower apartment; it feels too big, too shiny, too cold, but he never says anything about it. He tries to spend more time in his small Brooklyn apartment than here, but it wouldn’t be safe there, not for Darcy and possibly not for anyone around her.

He makes roast beef and cheese sandwiches and Darcy wrinkles her nose at the onion and steals the pickles from his plate as they eat. He pulls a plastic box from the cupboard that holds little squares of brownies he bought himself the day before. Darcy smiles, and for a moment he is startled by the resemblance to the photo in her shield file, but the smile falls away and once again she is pale and dark and so lost. When they finish, Darcy takes the dishes from the table and sets them in the sink before curling up on his favourite spot on the sofa. “Agent Coulson says that Thor and Dr. Foster, um, Jane will be back tomorrow morning to see you,” he says as he sits down, hands awkwardly on his knees.

“Dear Doctor Foster.  
Your intern we lost her.  
In a shower of rain.  
Men came with needles and guns.  
It wasn’t much fun.  
Who knows if she’ll be the same again.”

Darcy wraps her arms around her middle and she looks away, but he can see the tears that glimmer in her eyes. Her fists curl up and he feels a little pang of remorse at saying anything and tentatively reaches out a hand between them. He doesn’t touch her though, just holds his hand out and waits. After a tense few moments Darcy shifts, unwinds herself, and suddenly he finds himself with a lap full of her.

“Darcy,” he begins. To reprimand her? Ask her? He isn’t sure, but she presses her palm over his mouth and makes shushing sounds. He pulls her hand away. “Okay, okay. I’m not going to win this one.”

“They forgot me, and they forgot that you are real. Just a kid from Brooklyn. I don’t like bullies either,” Darcy says, so quiet even his serum-enhanced hearing can barely hear the words.

“How do you know that?” he asks, the question slipping off his tongue before he can stop himself. Dr. Anderson and Agent Coulson both cautioned him against asking her too many questions. They threw around phrases like ‘reintegration of the left and right brain’, ‘knitting of her fractured psyche’, and ‘logic via metaphor’ but they don’t mean anything to him. He’s just a soldier and there are too many questions swirling around his head; and his tongue is a traitor.

“Not just a soldier, a good man,” Darcy says and runs her hands through his hair. He feels uncomfortable and out of his depth, and there is no clear way to win or understand this girl in his lap with her hands in his hair. He can’t really remember the last time anyone touched him with anything other than fists since he woke from the ice. He grimaces at the turn of his thoughts and the girl shifts in his lap to look at him.

“”How do you know that?”

“I see the words, and the light. The needles made me see inside,” Darcy says with a frown, pressing warm fingertips against his temple.

“You see the words. You see inside my head?”

“If the words are loud and bright. Tangled up string to play cat’s cradle. Words, pictures, feelings. They did it after the needles and the light that took my scars away,” Darcy says, her hand dropping from his temple to rub across her stomach.

“Do you remember what happened to you?” he asks.

“For want of a star a girl was lost.  
For want of a girl the woman was lost.  
For want of a woman a weapon was lost.  
For want of a weapon the battle was lost.  
For want of the battle the kingdom was lost.  
All for the want of a star.

“The words aren’t right yet. I’m not right yet. Still broken.” She frowns then curls up tighter in his lap, pressing her face into his neck.

“How do I feel?”

“Safe and warm and bright. So many shiny thoughts all tangled and bright,” she murmurs against his skin and Steve huffs out an uneasy laugh. Darcy hums against his neck and he is pretty sure she is falling asleep on him. He hesitantly wraps his arms around her, and she makes a contented sound against his skin. He sits there holding her, wondering what he should do now. Despite all his words and bravado while defending her against Coulson and Dr. Anderson, he feels as lost as the girl in his arms.

His thoughts turn toward everyone that let this happen to her. He feels a churning in his guts as anger bubbles over and Darcy shifts in her sleep murmuring against his skin. He breathes slowly and deliberately shifts his thoughts to calmer things, and she quiets in his arm. He holds her for a little while longer listening to the sounds she makes as she sleeps, the mumbled sounds that might be words but he can't quite make them out.

Eventually he slips out from under her, covers her carefully with a blanket from the closet, and gets himself ready for bed. He lies down between the sheets and rubs his face with his hands. He closes his eyes and before he has the chance to fall asleep, the bed dips and Darcy is there. She curls up beside him, her hand on his chest, fingers curling into the v-neck of his shirt to touch his skin.

He feels that tickling frisson and Darcy murmurs, "Sleep now," to him as if he were a naughty child staying up late. He wonders if this is how it feels for a teddy bear or security blanket. “Teddy bear,” Darcy murmurs beside him, words a little slurred with sleep, and he suppresses a bubble of laughter at the absurdity and inappropriateness of damn near everything, but he is too tired. 

She is his responsibility now. He can't let SHIELD take her because it's not what is best for her. She needs the chance to heal and if SHIELD takes her then she may never get that. No matter what Coulson said, she did not kill the agents and doctors in the hall, but she sure as hell defended herself against the threat of more needles and men with guns. He shakes the thoughts from his head, rolls on his side away from Darcy, punches his pillow a few times, and closes his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I reworked the nursery rhymes "Doctor Foster" and "For want of a horseshoe nail" and a line of "Patty Cake" to work with Darcy's fractured mind.


	5. there are no pop tarts here

He is slow to wake in the faint light of morning and tries to chase the heady remnants of his dreams across his eyelids. Steve scratches his belly and slides his hand down under the elastic of his sweats and around his cock. His movements are slow and lazy as his mind lingers on the warm lips and soft curves that filled his dreams; his hips rolling up when he hears a whimper. His eyes fly open and he turns his head to see Darcy beside him, her small hand curled around his left wrist, her other hand busy between her legs. He untangles himself and falls to the floor with an ungainly yelp, his cheeks burning hotly as he rights himself and scrambles out the door and down the hall. 

The only thing he likes about living in the tower is the gym in his apartment. It’s simple; nothing more than a few padded mats and a punching bag made out of a sturdy material even he hasn’t managed to break. Not yet anyway. He shuts the door, careful not to slam it, and spends the next hour punching away his mortification, shame, disgust at his own baseness, and lingering frustration. When his breath is heavy and sweat pours down into his eyes, he stops and rests his forehead against the bag. He flexes his hands, knuckles raw and bleeding, and wipes his face on a towel. 

He slips back down the hall and finds Darcy still asleep on the bed curled around his pillow, her dark hair fanning out across the crumpled sheets. She looks small and so damn innocent as she sleeps that his heart aches. His hands itch to draw the tangle of her hair, the curve of her lips, the dark wings of her eyebrows, and her fingers clutching the pillow. He shakes his head at the turn of his thoughts and tiptoes through the room gathering clean clothes. Steve steps into the bathroom and switches on the shower. He hangs his clean clothes on the hook and strips his sweaty clothes off and drops them in the hamper. 

Steve stands under the spray of the shower, mind ticking over strategies and plans for the day to come. When he steps out and grabs a towel to dry his face and hair, Darcy is sitting on the counter still dressed in his shirt, one eyebrow arched and an apple in her hand. “Goddamn it, Darcy, you shouldn't be in here. It's not appropriate,” he splutters, fumbling to wrap the towel around his waist. His cheeks are blazing and he feels flustered and utterly out of his depth. 

“You’re pretty,” Darcy says, head cocked to the side. Steve struggles not to shout at her again and points to the door. Darcy wrinkles her nose and hops off the counter. She takes a step towards him and bounce up to kiss his shoulder before flouncing out the door. Steve slams the door and bangs his head twice against it before getting himself dressed as quickly as possible.

Steve leaves the bathroom to find Darcy in the kitchen standing on one leg, rubbing the back of her bare foot against her calf, and examining the expensive coffee machine he’d never turned on. All the cupboard doors are open with various cans and boxes piled up on the counter. Steve sighs. “There are no pop tarts here. There should be pop tarts,” Darcy murmurs, flicking switches on the espresso machine.

“How about I make us some eggs for breakfast?” Steve asks as he begins to close the cupboards and put everything away again. He gets out the frying pan and a carton of eggs. “How do you like your eggs? Fried? Over-easy? Runny?” he asks and Darcy wrinkles her nose up. “Not runny then. Scrambled?”

“Like my brain,” Darcy nods and taps her temple before she turns back to the coffee machine and pours coffee beans he didn’t know he had into the little hopper on top. Steve wonders if he should stop her, but he figures he’s never used it so it doesn’t matter if she breaks it. Steve cracks eggs into a bowl, adds a splash of milk, and begins whisking them as the frying pan heats up. Darcy hums and presses a button that makes the coffee machine whir to life. She turns around and grabs the carton of milk, carefully pouring some into a small metal jug before shoving the jug under a slim metal protrusion. 

“Darcy?”

“Shh, punk, I’m busy. The coffee won’t make itself you know. Or maybe it will and I forgot?” Darcy says back. 

“Right,” Steve says, and shakes his head in amusement at her bossy tone. He pours the beaten eggs into the pan and carefully stirs them as Darcy mutters to herself. When the eggs are cooked through, he portions them out onto two pale blue plates and sets them on the table. “The eggs are ready.”

“Coffee,” Darcy says and hands him a cup. Steve takes it cautiously and look dubiously at the foam. Darcy huffs and takes the cup out of his hands, bringing it to her mouth and taking a sip. She holds the cup back out for him, one eyebrow arched up in challenge. “It’s just coffee,” she says and Steve barks out a small laugh before taking a sip. The coffee is surprisingly good—rich and dark with just a hint of cinnamon.

“Cinnamon?” he asks.

“Yup. Like you taste.”

“I taste?” Steve chokes and sets the cup down before he spills it. Darcy lightly brushes the back of his hand with her fingers, and he feels the warmth and tickling on his skin.

“Warm and spicy like cake.” Darcy nods and drops down into the chair beside him to quietly eat her eggs and sip her coffee. “She lost her iPod, the girl did,” Darcy says with a wrinkled brow, eyes distant. “She did, I did. He stole it.”

“Who stole your iPod?” Steve asks as he watches Darcy stab at the last of her eggs with her fork. She doesn’t answer right away, just purses her lips and tilts her head. He has just put another forkful of eggs into his mouth when she speaks again.

“Son of Coul  
Was a dour soul  
And a dour old soul was he;  
He called for her iPod  
And he called for his gun  
And he called for his agents three.  
Every agent he had jack boots  
And very fine jack boots had he;  
Oh, there's none so rare  
As can compare  
With Son of Coul and his agents three.” 

“Coulson stole your iPod?” he asks, eyebrows arched.

“Yup,” Darcy says, popping the ‘p’ with a nod of her head. “In the...in the...I don’t remember.” She frowns, dropping her fork on her plate with a clatter, and pushes her chair away from the table. “I don’t remember the where.”

“It’s okay Darcy,” Steve says and then watches as she gathers her dishes, carefully placing them in the sink before wandering off back down the hall to the bedroom. 

After breakfast he spends over an hour convincing Darcy to get dressed with only partial success. In the end she dresses herself in one of his clean shirts and puts on the sweat pants that SHIELD had provided. She had point blank refused to put on the t-shirt with the SHIELD logo across the front. He can’t say that he blames her for not wanting to wear it. 

When his door chimes later that morning, Steve goes to answer it, not a small amount of worry. He takes a steadying breath and opens the door to find Agent Coulson standing calmly in front of the door, and Dr. Foster wringing her hands. “Morning, Dr. Foster, Agent,” Steve greets and holds the door open. 

“Good morning, Captain Rogers. I thought it best that we leave Thor upstairs for the moment so that Dr. Foster may speak with Darcy alone,” Coulson says with a polite smile. “How is Miss Lewis doing this morning?”

“Better I think,” Steve replies curtly before his manners got the better of him. “Would you like to sit down?”

“I’m fine, Captain,” Agent Coulson smiles wanly.

“Can’t see the world tree for the stars,” Darcy mutters under her breath behind him, and Steve tenses when her fingers curl against his collar, knuckles pressing against the back of his neck. He feels the warm burst of her power, a tickle against his skin; then she’s gone halfway across the room with the sofa between her and Dr. Foster.

“Darcy?” Dr. Foster calls out.

“The Bifrost Bridge is falling down,  
Falling down, falling down,  
The Bifrost Bridge is falling down,  
My fair Janey.

The golden god will not stay,  
Will not stay, will not stay,  
The golden god will not stay my fair Janey,” Darcy recites, voice flat and emotionless. She is looking down at her hands as she shifts from foot to foot, and Steve feels sure she is ready to bolt. He walks around the couch to stand beside Darcy. She doesn’t move to touch him, but stays on her own feet and Steve feels a little surge of pride.

“Oh my god, Darcy,” Dr. Foster exclaims as she heads across the room towards them, arms open to hug Darcy.

"I don't think that is a good idea. Don't try to touch her unless she touches you first," Steve says, face grim as he steps forward to block Dr. Foster from reaching Darcy.

"Captain Rogers?" Coulson asks, and Steve just shakes his head.

“I called you. I don’t have time for this, Darcy. I don’t have time for you,” Darcy says coldly and Dr. Foster visibly pales.

“I’m sorry, Darcy, I didn’t know.”

“Dear Dr. Foster, your intern we lost her,” Darcy mutters and shakes her head back and forth till her hair falls in a tangled curtain around her face.

"What does she mean? What's wrong with Darcy?" Dr. Foster asks as she looks from Darcy, to Steve, to Agent Coulson.

"She has suffered a severe trauma; it has resulted in amnesia and, unfortunately, her current state of instability," Coulson replies mildly. 

"What the hell is going on? You said she had been missing and that you found her. You didn’t say anything about this,” Dr. Foster says, narrowing her eyes at Coulson. “Darcy? What did SHIELD do to you?" 

“Not SHIELD, not Son of Coul, the man I...the doctor,” Darcy says, frowning and wrapping her arms around her body, darting glances at Steve.

“One, two, three, four, five  
Once they caught a girl alive,  
Six, seven, eight, nine, ten,  
They didn’t let her go again.  
Why didn’t they let her go?  
Because the needles bit her so.  
Did they change and break her, burn her with the light?  
They did and now the poor girl just isn’t right,” Darcy says, voice rough and cracking, and Steve’s fingers curl into fists.

“What does that mean?” Jane asks, looking from Darcy to Coulson.

“She was abducted from Culver University on a Thursday night last February; there appear to have been a string of disappearances along the West Coast over the past sixteen months. We’re looking into it,” Coulson says.

“They experimented on her, an attempt at Erskine’s serum,” Steve says, hiking his eyebrows up as he looks at Coulson. “What they did to her it fractured her mind and she has trouble finding words, and slips into rhyme,” Steve explains, and Dr. Foster covers her mouth with her hand.

“As I was taken they counted by fives, a man who’d stolen seven lives,  
Each life he took, with needles and knives, each girl that cries and slowly dies,  
One girl they put the needles in: needles, knives, guns and lies  
None were left to count by fives.

“I broke the spider on my back; I killed them with the knife and the gun. I remember, I remember, I remember,” Darcy says, breath hitching on a sob and Steve reaches out to her but doesn’t touch her. Darcy looks at his hand through the tears and throws herself at him. He wraps one arm around her back as her arms wrap around his waist. He can feel her hands tearing at the back of his shirt, pulling it up out of his trousers, and then the warm frisson as her palms pressed to the bare skin of his back.

“It’s time you left now. You’ve upset her enough,” Steve says, thrusting his chin towards the door.

“Captain Rogers I don’t think—” Coulson starts.

“I’m not asking,” Steve says, struggling to stay calm for Darcy’s sake as she trembles in his arms. 

“I’m sorry,” Dr Foster says, wiping at her eyes with the sleeve of her cardigan as she backs up out of the room. Coulson looks unimpressed as usual, but shepherds Dr. Foster through the door and closes it quietly behind them. Steve is damn sure he’ll be getting a call later on, but for now he wraps his arms tightly around Darcy and tries to turn his mind to happier thoughts, whispering calming words into her hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nursery rhymes adapted for this chapter: 'Old King Cole', 'London Bridge', 'One, Two, Three, Four, Five' and 'I Met a Man Going to St Ives'


	6. tangled thoughts

Darcy wakes in a tumble of warm sheets and curls into the heat of Steve asleep beside her. She breathes in his scent, rubbing her nose against his shoulder, and skates her hand along his chest to feel the rise and fall of each breath. And each beat of his heart sends blood pulse, pulse, pulsing through his veins. She opens her eyes and props her head on her hand, itching to touch his skin, to feel the warm tangle of him. 

She traces her fingers along his jaw, up over his forehead, down his sharp nose, and presses her fingertips against his bottom lip. Her mind reaches out, diving into his sleeping mind; it is bright and warm, memories tangled like threads woven together, and she greedily reaches out to strum the brightest ones. There are darker threads, too—tangles of memories filled with pain and regret, of cold and ice that send shivers down her spine, and she presses closer to Steve’s warm body.

She can’t look away from the most painful and turbulent memories and she brushes against them. The images blur and jumble in her mind, some pin-sharp—a woman with bright lips and perfectly curled hair, smiling just a little in wonder—and Darcy wants to be that beautiful, to curl around the warm feelings thrumming through the memory, amusement, pride, determination, hope. “Peggy,” Darcy whispers, tempted to see where the memories overlap, but there is anger and regret and pain and she shies away. She slips a little deeper, finding brighter, happier memories and hums happily as she sees a crooked smile and whispers a name to match the face. “Bucky.” She plucks at the strings of memory, tries to get deeper, but there is a shift and she blinks, refocusing on the man beneath her fingertips. He blinks slowly at her, lips quirking up under her fingertips, one eyebrow arched up.

“Morning,” he says, eyes crinkling in amusement. That same feeling thrums through her and she grins.

“Morning,” she replies, letting her fingers slide from his lips to feel the stubble on his cheeks prickle her fingertips. She closes her eyes, lets the connection swell to see her through his eyes. It’s brief—wild hair, blue eyes, smiling lips; there is amusement and a little bubble of happiness and contentment before his mind wakes up to worry and chaos. She wants to keep him like that, before the darker emotions flood through, before the worry and the doubt and discontent lap at the brightness. “A good man,” she whispers.

“I try,” Steve says, lips twisting into a bitter smile and Darcy pulls back from the connection with a frown, brushing her thumb against his bottom lip as she cradles his face in her hand. Steve’s stomach rumbles and a sheepish grin lights up his face. A chuckle rolls through him and Darcy wants to dive back into his mind, taste his emotions as they curl into him. “Let’s go make breakfast and then—”

Darcy cuts off his words, leaning forward to brush her lips against his, tongue darting out to lick and taste. She presses forward a little more, and his mouth parts under her and their tongues tangle together. Steve’s hand slides up her back to settle on the nape of her neck under the heavy fall of her hair. She feels dizzy with the taste of his tongue in her mouth, the stubble on his face tickling her skin, and the ripple of his emotions bright against her. Humor and surprise fade to warmer, deeper feelings—pleasure, want, joy—that sputter out and jumble with worry, torn, trouble, and finally resignation as he pulls his mouth away. 

"Darcy stop. We can’t do this. Not till you’re better. When you’re better, I promise," Steve says and gently eases her away. Darcy nods and bites her lip, rolling off the bed and onto her feet as Steve sits up, swinging his legs out of the bed, his bare toes curling against the cold floor. She walks across the room to stop in the door way, fingers curling against the frame. Steve is standing now, arms stretched over his head, t-shirt riding up to expose a stripe of bare skin on his abdomen, one hipbone sharp where his blue pajama pants hang crookedly.

"What if this is as better as I get," she asks and he turns his head, blue eyes sharp on her. His mouth opens, but no words come. She shrugs her shoulders and walks away, bare feet silent on the cold tiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short little chapter update but the imagery and the end didn't leave much room for anything else. I'm quite pleased with how this chapter turned out and the story as a whole. I shall be working on the next chapter over the next few days, among my other WIPs. Thank you very much to everyone who has been reading and commenting on this fic. It means the world to me when I ready the thoughtful comments you have left me. <3
> 
> Thank you katertots for being my person and my wonderful beta.


	7. Pens and Puzzle Pieces

“Are you going to be okay? Steve asks with a worried frown.

“I am crazy, not stupid,” Darcy huffs as she carefully turns the page of the book open in her lap.

“I can have someone check on you if the mission runs late,” Steve says, brow furrowed. He doesn’t want to leave her alone, but the call to assemble has been made and he can’t ignore that.

“Put on your red boots and dance, Captain,” Darcy says, pointing at the door as her eyes lock with his.

Steve grins. “Okay, okay, I know when I’ve lost a battle,” he grumbles, reaching up to ruffle Darcy’s messy hair. Darcy huffs and grabs his hand to push it away. There is the briefest spark of warmth where her slim fingers touch his bare wrist; then her touch is gone and Darcy is absorbed in her book again. “I’ll see you when we get back,” he promises. As an afterthought he adds, “If you need anything, just ask JARVIS.”

“I have enough ghosts in my head,” Darcy murmurs but looks up from her book to watch him leave.

...........................................

The mission went as well as could be expected when dealing with a particularly inept band of drug lords hiding in South America that had come into possession of Chitauri weapons that disappeared in the aftermath of the Battle of New York. He is covered in dirt and things he’d really rather not think about. All he wants to do is strip off the rest of his uniform and possibly burn it before he drowns himself in a hot shower.

He opens the door and the first thing he sees is Darcy standing on the couch, arms raised above her head, swaying to soft music. Her whole face lights up into a brilliant smile and she leaps off the couch and throws herself into his arms. He barely has time to catch her, his hands gripping the backs of her thighs as she winds her limbs around him. He grins down at her as her fingers graze the back of his neck and that warm bubble of her power tingles along his skin. He wonders what she sees when she touches him; if she feels how happy he is to be home, his amusement with her antics, and that he is happy to see her, too.

“Ew, you stink,” Darcy says, wrinkling her nose up and startling a laugh out of him as she untangles herself and drops to her bare feet.

“Gee thanks, I missed you too,” Steve says dryly as he scratches his jaw. His gaze falls on the nest of books, pens, notebooks, and blankets surrounding the couch. “Are those my good pens?”

“Maybe,” Darcy says with a shrug then bounces up on her toes to plant a kiss on the corner of his mouth. “I didn’t break them. I’ve been...making the pieces fit.”

“May I look?” Steve asks and Darcy nods, twisting the ends of her hair around her fingers. He picks up the top notebook and flicks through the pages. There are circles drawn round and round words, bubbles of writing he can’t decipher. Small sketches of puzzle pieces, needles, spiders, a window looking out over a boardwalk strung with lights. There are stars and constellations, and a sketch of his face, lip twitched up in a half smile. One page is almost entirely filled with Darcy’s name signed over and over again. There are several more sketches of his face and puzzle pieces scattered in piles. “Puzzle pieces?”

“Puzzle pieces. I’m missing pieces of myself,” Darcy says, pressing her fingers against the page, bottom lip caught between her teeth. “I’m missing pieces; they scooped them out of me, burned them away. These are the pieces that I have left. I have to make a picture from the pieces that remain and the new ones that are given to me. Some sharp as a blade, some are blurred and blunted and jagged and frayed.”

“Darce,” he begins, but Darcy shakes her head at him and he wraps an arm around her, pulling her in tight to his side.

“You still smell,” Darcy says and he snorts.

 

..................................................

She is stacking books neatly on the coffee table when there is a knock on the door. Steve said not to answer the door, but he is still in the shower and curiosity gets the better of her. When she opens the door, there is a man in shiny grey suit, with small dark sunglasses hiding his eyes, and an odd pattern of facial hair surrounding his mouth standing there. He presses past her into the room, attention solely on the tablet in his hands. "So how crazy are you?"

"I don't know. How crazy are you?" Darcy tilts her head to the side, sifting through her memories to find his face. He’s not in her memory but something borrowed from Steve: Tony Stark, Iron Man.

"Touché. Where's the Boy Scout?" Tony asks, looking over the top of his sunglass at her.

"In the shower," Darcy says, lacing her fingers together to keep from reaching out to taste Tony Stark’s mind.

“So really, how crazy are you?”

“Says the tin man,” Darcy snarks back, rocking on her heels.

“Are you going to go all Murdoch on me?”

“Anthony Edward Stark lost his heart  
Iron Man found it;  
Not a weapon was there in it,  
Only the arc reactor round it.”

"Creepy," Stark replies.

“Stark what are you doing here?” Steve asks as he steps into the room dressed in clean sweats, damp hair mussed and falling over his forehead.

“I own the building. It has my name on it. I came to see Crazy Train over there,” Tony says jabbing his thumb in her direction.

“Stark,” Steve says, pressing his lips into a grim line.

“What are Iron Men made of?  
Red and gold, and technology so  
That's what Iron Men are made of.  
What are little girls made of?  
"Sorrow and rhyme, and things that may not mend in time  
That's what little girls are made of,” Darcy says, voice small and lilting.

“Jesus, Cap,” Tony says, side eyeing her.

“Darcy,” Steve admonishes, eyebrows twitching up behind the messy fall of his damp hair. Darcy rolls her eyes and huffs.

“Is she fucking with me? Are you fucking with me, Sylvia Plath?” Tony asks and Darcy arches her eyebrows, a smug grin curving her lips.

“She’s getting better,” Steve says firmly.

“So no more Fruity Oaty Bars then?”

“I don’t—“

“I understood that reference,” Darcy says.

“Four for you, River Tam, and before you ask I have a reason for being here,” Tony says, holding out the tablet to Steve.

“What is it?” Steve asks as he takes the Starkpad and sits down in his favourite brown leather chair.

“JARVIS found an interesting report kicking around SHIELDs server. They found the building she was held in,” Tony says, eyes flicking to Darcy and back to Steve. “Santa Cruz, California in sight of the boardwalk. There was an attempt at apprehending who they assume to be the leader of the operation, but he swallowed a cyanide capsule.”

“Hydra?” Steve asks, face grim, as Darcy steps up to his side to look down at the tablet in his hands.

“SHIELD isn’t sure, but it’s possibly an offshoot cell or someone who had access to one of the incomplete Erskine formula. They’ve recovered ten bodies so far, all missing college kids.”

“Darcy?” Steve asks, and she takes a step back, arms crossed and nails digging into her skin.

“The doctor is dead? They are all dead now?” she whispers and looks from Steve to Tony, blinking back sudden tears.

“Yeah, kid. He’s dead,” Tony says, hands fiddling with a bit of metal he found in one of his pockets.

“As I was taken they counted by fives, a man who’d stolen seven lives,  
Each life he took, with needles and knives, each girl that cries and slowly dies,  
One girl they put the needles in: needles, knives, guns and lies  
The last one with poison dies.” Darcy murmurs to herself, fingers pressing bruises into her arms.

“Stark, you need to leave,” Steve says jerking his head to the door.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony says as he stands.

The moment the door shuts behind him, Steve opens his arms and Darcy crawls into his lap. She presses her face into the crook of his neck, hands gripping his shirt, and her whole body trembling as he holds her tight. She presses as close to him as possible, diving into him. Worry, anger, fear, swirl around her, dragging her down until she stumbles on brighter emotions, sinks into contentment, hope, relief, and affection. Steve rubs her back and strokes her hair as she sobs against his neck, tears trickling down his shirt. She pulls back from the contact, focuses on his steady heartbeat, each inhale and exhale, the warmth of his hands on her back and tangling in her hair.

“You okay?” Steve asks when she lifts her head up.

“I don’t...I don’t know. They can’t hurt anyone again. Not ever again. It’s better right? I should be happy—but they died. So many of them stolen away to die by their needles, but I didn’t die. They took away my scars and my life but I didn’t die. Why didn’t I die like the others?” Darcy asks as she thinks of the scars that are gone, the fading bruises on her arms from her own hands, the faces of the girls held in the pen with her.

“Sometimes you have to live. Someone has to live for those that didn’t,” Steve murmurs against her hair and pulls her closer, brushing his lips against her temple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nursery Rhymes rewritten for Darcy:  
> Lucy Lockett, What are boys made of and I Was Going to St Ives (I used it in a previous but changed the last line for impact). 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading the chapter, this verse has more of my heart than I ever thought it would. I loved writing Darcy and Tony's interaction. Because Tony.


	8. sparring and hair brushes

They’ve been sparring for over an hour now, sweat glistening off skin, faces flushed with colour. Darcy is grinning and bouncing on her heels around him. “Come on, Blondie, is that the best you got?” she taunts him as he makes a grab for her, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as she twists eel-like out of his grasp and kicks his thigh with her bare foot. 

She doesn’t have Natasha’s dancer like grace but what she lacks in grace she more than makes up for in being unpredictable, fluidly changing from one martial arts discipline to another with little time for thought in between. He wonders how she would fare against Natasha in a match; he is distracted by the thought as he grabs her foot when she aims to kick his head. He may not be as graceful as her or Natasha but he has strength and weight and knows how to use the body he was given. 

Steve lets go of her foot and the fight continues; he holds back his strength when he punches, though he’s aware of the fact her body heals nearly as fast as his own. Despite his care, a bruise has bloomed across her left cheekbone and another on her arm. “You don’t seem to be of the moth or wasp variety. Do chorus girls in tights fight?” Darcy taunts again as she circles around him looking for the perfect opening. “Butterfly and bee.”

Steve lunges at the same time Darcy leaps at him and they land in a tumble of flailing limbs on the gym mat with Darcy squirming beneath him. He grabs her right wrist and pins her hand to the mat as her left hand tickles against his ribs. She laughs up at him and he feels the warm tickle of her power teasing at his palm. “What are you going to do now?”

“You talk too much,” Steve huffs out a laugh as her fingers digs into his ribs. Darcy grins up at him, flicks her tongue across her bottom lip, drawing his gaze from her laughing blue eyes to her mouth. Steve leans forward and brushes his mouth gently against hers. That’s all it should have been but Darcy wraps her leg around his waist and her free arm snakes up around his neck as she licks into his mouth. 

He kisses her back, tongues tangling as his hand skims along her side. He trails butterfly kisses along her jaw when her hips roll against his. With a groan he pulls back, rolling off Darcy flat onto his back against the mat, arm thrown over his eyes as he breathes slowly to calm down his heart rate. “Shouldn’t a done that,” he mutters.

“You’re cute when you’re all flustered and frustrated,” Darcy says, pulling his arm away from his still red face. He grumbles and glares at her but she ignores him, drops a kiss on his forehead, and stands up fluidly. “I’m going to go take a shower.” She turns and walks out of the room stripping off her t-shirt as she walks. Steve groans again and looks away, though not as quickly as he perhaps should have.

.................................

They still sleep in the same bed every night, Darcy burrowing against his side, her dark hair spread across the pillow. She isn’t the only one that finds comfort in the closeness, comfort in her arms wrapping around him after the Avengers have been in a fight. 

She is careful then, only quick touches of her empathic gift tingling against his skin when she curls around him. He still doesn’t fully understand the nature of her empathy and telepathy, only knows the tingling pressure of her touch as she glimpses into his emotions, thoughts and memories. It would almost be funny, her small form curled protectively around him, if he didn’t feel himself calmed and cared for when she did it. Their lives have become so entangled that he isn’t sure how well either of them would do without each other. It’s a strange thought that he might need her as much as she needs him.

“The soldier out of time and the broken girl,” Darcy says solemnly as she stares at him through the reflection in the bedroom mirror.

“How do you know I was thinking that,” Steve asks raising his brows.

“You get that pinched look when you worry about me,” Darcy says with a frown as she raises the brush in her hand to her tangled hair. “Don’t.”

“You sure you want to go up to dinner?” Darcy turns and looks at him and he struggles not to squirm under the intensity of her gaze.

“I will try not to embarrass you. I don’t...I’m trying to be better,” she says and pulls the brush through her hair. It becomes tangled and she growls in frustration.

“Let me help you with that,” Steve offers, crossing the room and pulling the brush from her hand.

“I’m not a doll. I don’t need you to do that,” Darcy frowns, reaching to grab the brush back.

“Used to brush my ma’s hair when I was a kid…every night ‘less I was too sick then she’d sit on my bed and brush out her hair, tell me stories of Ireland, the old stories. I used to draw them on the scraps of paper she’d bring home for me,” he says softly and Darcy’s hands fall down.

“I’m sorry,” Darcy says, and bites her lip. “Will you let me see?”

“I thought you could see into my memories,” Steve says, but holds his hand out.

“I can but it’s all tangled together. If you picture her in your mind, the thoughts that float on the surface are easiest to see. Such tangled, twisty little things, memories on brightly coloured string,” Darcy says frowning at herself then shrugging her shoulder as she threads her fingers through his. Her touch tingles and he closes his eyes and pulls up the faded memory of his mother sitting on his small bed and helping her take the pins out of her hair one at a time and waiting for her to hand him her brush, the crinkles around her blue eyes when she smiled and laughed. He can’t remember her voice but he remembers the rose oil she wore on special occasions. 

“She’s beautiful,” Darcy says. She wraps her arms around his waist and he wraps his arms around her, the brush held uselessly in his right hand.

“Yeah,” he says, voice thick as he blinks away the tears burning his eyes, and he squeezers her a little bit tighter. He feels suddenly guilty that hasn’t thought about his mother in years.   
“You look like her. The same eyes, the same pretty mouth,” she says and Steve huffs out a laugh.

“Gee thanks, Darcy.”

“You’re welcome,” Darcy smiles, pressing up on her toes to kiss him softly. “Come on then, time to get gussied up for this shindig.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Steve replies, amused, and Darcy turns around to allow him to run the brush though her hair. A comfortable silence falls between them as he brushes the tangles out of her hair. He watches as her shoulders relax with each stroke of the brush through her dark hair. “You know we don’t have to go to dinner just because Tony invited us.”

“I’m not a child, I’m just not...the girl I used to be. Is that so bad?” Darcy asks, stilling his hand and pulling the brush away.

“No, it’s not bad Darcy. I didn’t mean it that way,” Steve says rubbing the back of his neck and trying to find the words to explain. “Damn it.”

“Shut it, Captain. I know what I am. I’m not the girl I was, but I am me,” Darcy says, grabbing his hand and twisting his palm up to draw patterns with her fingertip. It tickles and he twitches. “I won’t be her again, but I’m a better me, better than the shattered thing that walked the pavement with bleeding feet.”

“Darce,” Steve begins.

“Keep your words, punk,” Darcy says. She shakes her head and drops a kiss on his open palm then spins in a circle, hair flying in his face. She disappears into the bathroom to get dressed, and he pulls out a fresh shirt from the closet and strips off the plaid shirt he is wearing. 

He is tying his shoes in the living room when Darcy surfaces from the bathroom dressed in dark leggings, soft black boots that he is pretty sure are slippers, and a dark blue shirt, his dark blue shirt, cinched in at the waist with a black belt. He grins a little at her, as she twirls about. “So that’s where my blue shirt went,” he teases and Darcy rolls her eyes.

A few days after Dr. Foster’s disastrous visit, a few boxes arrived filled with some of Darcy’s belongings—mostly a large collection of hideous knitwear, that she never touched, a photo album that lead to her destroying every glass and mug in the kitchen after she looked through it and failed to remember the stories and faces behind the photographs, and a large collection of battered paperback novels. She wears his shirts more often than not.

“You ready to face the music?” Darcy asks threading her arm through his when he stands. 

“Yeah,” he says and they head out the door. This is one of the few times Darcy has willingly left the sanctuary of their quarters.


	9. Playlists and rhymes

The ride in the elevator is silent. Darcy toys with the buttons on the cuffs of the shirt she is wearing as she pulls the sleeves down over her hands. The elevator pings and the doors slide open as they are greeted by JARVIS’ crisp “Good evening, Captain Rogers, Miss Lewis, drinks are being served in the lounge.”

“Thank you, JARVIS,” Steve says, tilting his head up to glance at the ceiling. Darcy remains silent beside him but he soon finds her hand sliding into his and he gives it a reassuring squeeze. “It’ll be okay, Darce.” She doesn’t reply just squeezes his hand back as they walk into the lounge.

Clint and Natasha are curled up on one of the massive couches, drinks in hand. Thor stands alone by the floor to ceiling window watching the storm brewing over the city, and Bruce and Tony are by the bar, Tony’s hands flying about as he talks and Bruce shaking his head and examining something on the Starkpad in his hands.

It’s family in a way, as much as Darcy has become entangled in his life so has his team. Darcy’s hand pulses with warmth and he stops walking to turn towards her. Her face has drained of colour and her breathing has halted. “Darcy, look at me and breathe okay?” he says, curling his hand along her jaw and tilting her head up. She takes a shaky breath, eyes blinking rapidly.

“Tinker, archer, soldier, spy  
Save the world by and by.  
Hulking mass of genius and wrath,  
Golden god fallen from the rainbow path.

“I...sorry,” Darcy says shaking her head, pink staining her pale cheeks. “I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s okay, Darcy. They are my friends, even Stark. You’re safe here but we can go back home if you want to,” Steve says calmly rubbing his thumb along her cheek.

“No, I just...I’m fine,” she says with a nod, and he lets his hand drop from her face. She keeps a tight hold on his hand and as he leads her to the couches he catches Natasha looking at their entwined hands. Natasha’s eyebrow ticks up and he clenches his jaw.

“Darcy, I’d like you to meet Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff,” Steve says as Natasha moves to stand slowly, a small smile curving her lips.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Darcy,” Natasha says, not holding out her hand, which he is grateful for; Darcy isn’t ready to touch the thoughts of the Black Widow.

“Welcome to the Asylum kid. Don’t drink the Kool-Aid,” Clint drawls from his seat sprawled across the couch.

“Clint,” Natasha admonishes.

“We’re all mad here,” Darcy says lowly and Clint barks out a laugh.

“I take umbrage to that Alice, for surely I am the Cheshire Cat,” Tony says with a grin as he sidles up beside them.

“Not the Hatter then?” Darcy snaps back, bouncing a little on her toes and Steve begins to feel a little wary.

“So, Sybil, got some more rhymes for us today?” Stark counters with a wide grin that makes Steve feel more uneasy.

“Dude, do I look like your dancing monkey?” Darcy asks tartly.

“Lady Darcy,” Thor rumbles quietly and Darcy looks up, scraping her teeth against her bottom lip.

“Thor,” she says after a long pause. Darcy takes a faltering step towards Thor but refuses to release Steve’s hand. “Do you still like...like Pop-Tarts?”

“Yes, my dear friend. It is good to see you looking well, Darcy. You are well, are you not?” Thor asks in as quiet a tone as Steve ever remembers him using before.

“I’m not unwell, I’m just not the me I was,” Darcy replies with a frown looking back over her shoulder at Steve. “I’m better though. Right?”

“Yes, Darcy, you are much better,” Steve murmurs rubbing his thumb against her hand, and feeling a trickle of warmth as she reads him again. Darcy nods and takes a breath to speak but whatever she planned to say never comes when Pepper and Doctor Foster step into the room and directly in Darcy’s line of sight. “Darce?”

“Dear Doctor Foster.  
Your intern we lost her.  
In a shower of rain.  
Men came with needles and guns.  
It wasn’t much fun.  
Who knows if she’ll be the same again,” Darcy whispers eyes tracking Jane’s movements. Darcy throws herself into Steve chest and he lets go of her hand to wrap his arms around her. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Shhh. It’s okay, Darce,” Steve soothes, slipping his hand up under her dark hair to cup the back of her neck the same time Darcy reaches a hand up to curl against his collar, her knuckles pressing into his neck; he can feel her gift sparking against his hand and neck.

“There was a little girl  
Whose mind did twist and whorl  
With things that are best left unsaid.  
And when she was good  
She was very, very good  
But when she was mad  
Blood was shed,” she whispers against his chest breath hitching on a sob.

“Give us a minute,” Steve says, voice low and the team steps back. Thor leads a crying Dr. Foster across the room, while Natasha and Pepper push Tony off into the dining room, with Clint and Bruce trailing after. “Do you wanna go home?”

“No,” Darcy mumbles against his chest. “I just...I called her and I called her and she hung up and they took me. It hurts.”

“I know, doll,” Steve murmurs into her hair, rubbing circles on her back above her belt until her breath steadies and she rubs her nose against him.

“I’m okay.”

“You are,” Steve says and drops a quick kiss on top of her head. Darcy untangles herself, rubs at her eyes, and offers up a brittle smile. “Dinner?”

“Yup,” Darcy says with a determined jut of her chin. They walk into the dining room where everyone is seated around the huge table laden with food. Natasha smacks Clint’s hand away from a covered dish as Steve pulls out a chair for Darcy; she carefully sits down, fingers gripping the edge of the table so hard they turn white. Steve frowns as he sits down and drapes his napkin across his lap. Darcy follows his example, though her hands shake a little, and her lip is red from biting it as she avoids looking at Jane’s end of the table. 

Darcy begins to hum softly along with the music playing lowly from the speakers and it takes him a few moments to hear the lyrics. “Really, Tony? This is the music you play tonight?”

“It’s okay, Steve, I like this song. My mother used to sing it to me. At least I think she did,” Darcy murmurs beside him, curling her hand around the fist he doesn’t realize he made. “I was a willow last night in my dream...”

“The basket case has good taste,” Tony says and Darcy rolls her eyes with a little huff. The dinner is something Tony says was catered by a taco truck—spicy Mexican food that Darcy picks at happily beside him and Steve relaxes into the conversation buzzing around him. Darcy laughs and sings along with Tony’s playlist of crazy songs. The only time she grips his hand tightly, sharp nails cutting into his skin, is when Jane tries to speak to her. She just isn’t ready for that and eventually Dr. Foster gives up, leaning heavily on Thor beside her.

“So tell us, Captain,” Tony starts with a crooked grin, “what’s Chesty LaRue like in the sack? I mean all that crazy has to translate between the sheets.”

“What?” Steve splutters, dropping his fork full of rice with a clatter to his plate.

“Tony,” Pepper scolds with a horrified gasp.

“Fuck you, Stark,” Steve snaps, pushing up from the table, knocking over glasses and sending his chair crashing back into the wall in his wake. His hands curl into fists and his ears and cheeks are turning red as he glares across the table at Tony holding his hands up in the air.

“This is why we can’t have nice things,” Clint says as pops another salsa laden hip into his mouth.

“Thanks for the dinner, shame about the conversation,” Darcy says to no one in particular and grabs his arm, tugging him away from the table and out of the room. They ride the elevator in near silence save for Darcy’s slightly off key singing of the song that was playing as they left. “I’m crazy for trying, I’m crazy for crying...”

“Darcy, I’m sorry for what Tony said,” Steve says when they are behind the closed door of his apartment.

“Why? You didn’t say it. You’re sweet,” Darcy says, fingers twisting up the hem of the shirt she is wearing. She reaches up to touch his face but he shakes his head no and her hand falls awkwardly away.  
“I uh, I’m gonna go—”

“Punch something,” Darcy finishes for him and he smiles a little. “You know, it doesn’t matter if we were having sex. There isn’t any shame in it.”  
“I know,” Steve says, shifting uncomfortably. They haven’t talked about sex, not really. 

“I could sleep in the other room,” Darcy says, voice suddenly more fragile.

“I don’t want you to go. I want you in my bed. I want...” Steve trails off, at a loss for words how to say he wants her in his bed and tangled up in his life.

“To go punch your bag,” she finishes for him, though that isn’t what he wants to say at all.

“Yeah, something like that,” Steve frowns and watches Darcy rock on her heels then turn and walk away down the hall.

He loses track of time in the gym, hitting the bag over and over, imagining Stark’s face where his fists land. When he is covered in sweat, hands throbbing, knuckles scraped and covered in dried blood, he stumbles into the shower and into a pair of clean shorts.

He crawls into is bed and curls around Darcy. She shifts and murmurs his name when their skin comes in contact as he wraps his arm around her and gently kisses the back of her neck.

Tony Stark’s Playlist for Darcy

Crazy on You- Heart  
Crazy- Patsy Cline  
Crazy- Aerosmith  
Crazy Train- Ozzy Osbourne  
Let’s Go Crazy- Prince  
Crazy in Love- Beyonce  
Crazy Little Thing Called Love- Queen  
Crazy- Gnarles Barkley  
Crazy- K-Ci & Jojo  
Cypress Hill- Insane in the Brain  
You Drive Me Crazy- Britney Spears  
Crazy Crazy Nights- Kiss  
Crazy Love- Frank Sinatra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to wait to publish this chapter but I got it back from my beta and thought I would share anyway.
> 
> I'm off on vacation now and won't have my laptop with me but I have started writing chapter 10 and will be working on it the old fashioned way with pen and notebook and a bit of borrowed wifi in coffee shops.


	10. Dreams and the promises undefined

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick note of warning (not that most of you need it) there is some mild smut at the beginning of the chapter so if you wish to skip that find the ".......".

She wakes up cold, blankets pulled away from her shoulders and body. “Steve, you stole the blanket again,” she murmurs sleepily, rolling over and throwing and arm and a leg over him, and snuggling against his bare chest. Steve sleeps on, her hand warming on the smooth skin of his side as she doses off again. Much later she awakes in the same position though his arm has moved from under the pillow to curl against her back. 

Darcy hums and stretches sleepily against Steve, her bare thigh rubbing against the hard length of him through the fabric of his boxer shorts. “ Mmmm.”

“Darce,” Steve says, voice slurred with sleep as his hand curls around her knee pressing her closer to him, hips rolling against her. Her hands twitch and she slides them along warm skin opening the link between them to dip into his mind. Steve shivers under her touch and there is the foggy impression of the remnants of his dreams as they fade: hungry mouths and slick bodies. His body and mind seem to pulse with want. It's a heady feeling and Darcy shivers as pleasure courses through her body and pools between her legs. 

Steve's arms wrap around her, hands sliding along her back and she arches into the touch, loosening the threads of his mind to blink sleepily at him. Steve stares back at her with heavy lidded eyes and a half smile. Darcy smiles and kisses him, a soft, butterfly light pressing of her lips against his once and then again.

"Darcy," he whispers and licks into her mouth, his tongue curling against hers. His hands never stop exploring her back through the cotton of her t-shirt and down to cup her bare ass. She feels surprise and lust ripple through him as he gasps into her mouth. He pulls back, breath hot against her cheek as he says, "No panties." 

"Forgot," she says as she finds his mouth again, sinking her teeth into his bottom lip, nails scraping along skin, hips rocking. Steve groans and rolls them over settling his weight in the cradle of her thighs. She wraps her legs around his hips and skates her hands along his back. She gets bursts of emotion from him all soaked in arousal that sends her head spinning and tightens the coil in her belly. 

Steve rocks against her as he trails kisses along her neck, the head of his cock nudging against her clit though the damp cotton of his boxers and Darcy cries out clutching at his shoulders. She gets a fleeting impression of pride and satisfaction from him then. Before she can form the words on her tongue he rolls his hips into her and claims her mouth again, tongue invading and stealing her words away.

His left arm is still underneath her holding her close but his right hand is free to explore; calloused fingertips trail across her thigh and up under her shirt, teasing along her side making her shiver. His hand slides up to cup her breast, thumb and forefinger gently pinching her nipple as he thrusts against her again and again. She cries out when her orgasm rolls through her, back bowing and nails clawing into his shoulders.

Darcy blinks slowly up at him, his eyes are dark and a smirk is twitching at the corners of his mouth. He is still hard pressed against her centre and when she brushes against his conscious mind he shudders against her, pulling back. 

His mind is still flooded with arousal though the fog of it is dissipating as worry and doubt seep in to war with affection and his pleasure at making her come. She squeezes her legs tight around him, wraps her arms around his neck as she rolls her hips against him. "Stop trying to think," she says against his ear. 

He startles, turning his head to look at her, but Darcy licks into his mouth and Steve kisses her back, his hand gripping her hip tight enough to bruise as he gives in to thrust against her. He curls around her, pulling his mouth from hers to bury his face in her neck. Shocks of pleasure course down his spine and she ghosts along for the ride, gasping his name as Steve comes and a second orgasm rolls through her.

He slumps forward, a heavy weight on her body, mouth against her shoulder, breath tickling against her skin. She slides her hands along the muscles of his sweat soaked back, legs locked tight around his waist as the last aftershocks course through her body. Steve kisses her neck and Darcy squirms as his stubble tickles a sensitive spot.

 

"I—uh—we should talk. After I go get cleaned up," Steve says when his breathing has calmed and he lifts his head to meet her eyes. His thoughts are skirting around his mind, too fleeting for her to grasp and examine closely. 

"I could help you with that," Darcy murmurs, running her fingertips up and down his spine and Steve shivers.

"No I'm…okay," he says as he pushes himself up and Darcy reluctantly loosens her grip.

"Really, Steve? That's not what you are imagining at all. I can see inside your head. You pressing me up against the tiles as you—"

"Darcy! Hush," Steve says covering her mouth with his hand and she licks his palm. Steve huffs out a laugh and rolls to his feet. He grimaces down at himself, ears turning red at his wet shorts clinging to his body. Darcy laughs and when Steve flicks his gaze back to her his eyes widen and he swallows at her still splayed legs and the outline of her breasts through the thin cotton t-shirt. "I—shower," he grumbles.

"Uh huh," Darcy says, eyes roaming over his bare chest and wet boxers that leave little to the imagination. She slides her hand slowly down her belly and Steve groans, turning his back and stalking off into the bathroom. Darcy laughs and rolls on the bed, grinning up at the ceiling. 

Once Steve is safely locked behind the bathroom door, Darcy drags herself out of bed and as she listens to Steve mutter to himself behind the closed door as the shower runs. 

She hums and trails off to the hall bathroom. She gazes at her reflection, sees the pink abrasions on her neck and jaw from Steve's stubble scratching against her skin as they kissed. She traces the curve of her smile on the cold glass, presses her fingertips against the bruises on her hip from Steve's hand and gasps at the answering pulse between her thighs. 

.................................

In the kitchen she fires up the coffee machine and nibbles on grapes from the fruit bowl. Latte in hand, she curls up on her spot the couch, flicking through her journal and the books that had been hers in her life before she was taken. Before her life began again in a parking lot littered in the broken bodies of mechanical spiders and a superhero in a patriotic costume who helped an amnesiac girl. 

Steve emerges from the bedroom when she is tangled in a ball of orange yarn and contemplating throwing the wooden needles through a wall.

"Everything alright there?" Steve asks, amusement colouring his voice. 

"No," she scowls down at the needles in her hands. "I can do it if I don't think about it. My hands remember what to do but I can't. I made all the hats and scarves in those pictures," she says, tilting her head towards the pile of printed photos from what had been her Facebook page.

"I can help you," Steve says neutrally and she looks up at him. He is dressed immaculately: perfectly pressed shirt, dark denim jeans, brown boots, and not a hair out of place. He is nervous though, hands shoved in his pockets and a wary tension thrumming through every line of his body.

"Maybe later," she says and drops the yarn and needles in her lap and reaches out towards him. Steve hesitates for a moment before pulling his hands from his pockets to twine their fingers together. His smile is tremulous, ghosting across his lips as the worried tension eases from between his brows and he smiles full and wide, and Darcy's stomach flips. She brushes against his mind, cinnamon and home flavoured with worry and affection. "Stop worrying. You didn't do anything wrong. We didn't do anything that any other couple that loves each other would do." Her tone is matter-of-fact but she doesn't look up from her lap as she twists the yarn between her fingers. Steve's fingers tighten against her hand as surprise ripples through him and she darts her gaze up at him then. "Why does that surprise you?"

"I don't know," Steve says, his gaze dropping to their entwined hands, his thumb rubbing back and forth against her skin. 

"I may never remember what happened in sixth grade or how to knit a scarf. I remember scars that should be on my skin, but I can't remember if I ever went to prom or who I dated in school. But I remember you. Every time you let me touch you, touch your emotions and press against your memories. You made me feel safe. Not the Avengers or Captain America. Steve Rogers gave a broken, traumatized girl a safe home. 

"There are gaps in my memory still. I can't remember any of my birthdays, my favourite colour, or losing my virginity but I know that you bite your tongue when you sketch. You like your coffee black except in the morning and after bad missions, then you drink it with sugar and cream. I can kill a man with my hands. They did that to me: took the memory of my mother's face and put in knowledge and abilities I never asked for. I know the faces from your memories—Bucky and Peggy and the Howling Commandos—better than I know the faces in that pile of photographs. I hate runny eggs and you will eat any kind of egg. I rhyme when something triggers me and I can't make the world make sense by myself. I know how I feel though. Know that I trust you, know I can't stop touching you, touching your skin and diving into your emotions and thoughts. I know I love you. Couldn't feel any other way." She says it all at once, barely stopping to breathe as the words pour off her tongue.

"Are you gonna let me talk," Steve asks, amusement and affection tinged with worry swirling through the link. 

"Depends if you are going to tell me whatever it is you convinced yourself of while you were in the bathroom. Unless you were jerking off in there," Darcy says, arching a dark brow.

"Darce," Steve chokes out red creeping up his neck.

"Tell me it's not a valid statement. I'm pretty sure I could make up a rhyme about it. A limerick at the very least," she teases with a grin, tugging on his hand to get Steve to sit down beside her. "It's just a word you know. You don't have to say it. I can feel it."

"I know," he says, squeezing her hand and bringing their hands to his mouth to kiss her fingertips. "I never thought I would have this."

"A crazy girl running barefoot and covered in blood asking you for help? Isn't that an occupational hazard," Darcy mocks gently.

"Smartass," he mutters and tugs her closer making the yarn and needles fall from her lap and roll across the floor. "I never thought I would find this thing we have…this connection between us. Never thought I'd have anyone after the war and the ice after I lost everything. Still don't understand what you saw when you stopped fighting in the hall at SHIELD. I'm glad you're in my life and curled up beside me at night."

"I saw you the same as you saw me. Maybe you weren't crazy like me but you took a crazy girl away from SHIELD and into your home. So, I guess you' aren't all that mentally stable," Darcy grins and leans in to kiss Steve's chin. "Is it just the sex that has you flummoxed? Which really it shouldn't, I mean I saw that memory of Kathleen O'Shay in the—”

"We are not talking about that," Steve interjects the tips of his ears glowing red.

"Or Constance and Lauren in the back of the tour bus."

"Darcy!"

"You rather like that memory," Darcy says poking Steve in the chest with her free hand. "I do too. So hot. I can't remember doing that with anyone. Well, I can remember when I was thirteen I let David Lipnicki feel up my boobs for five minutes in exchange for his brother's comics...oh," Darcy says, cheeks suddenly flushing red.

"Oh? What oh?" Steve asks, eyebrows rising towards his hairline. Darcy bites her lip and shakes her head no and Steve reaches out to tickle her sides. "Darce? Tell me."

"Stop it," Darcy gasps as she wiggles under Steve trying to tickle him back, but she is laughing too hard to make much of an effort.

"Oh?"

"Fine. He gave me his brother's Captain America comics." 

"Really?" 

"Yeah."

"Had a thing for Cap then?"

"Maybe," Darcy says rolling her eyes as Steve grins down at her, his hand resting warm on her side. "I didn't know he was such an ass when I was a kid, or so old. Oh, hey, if I can't remember having sex does that mean I'm a virgin? Does Captain America get to pop the crazy girl's cherry?" 

"Stop talking," Steve says with a grin and drops a kiss to her mouth, tongue teasing at the seam of her lips until she opens her mouth for him. "How about we go out on a date first before we talk about anything fruit related?"

"But that's a fruit," Darcy says and Steve huffs out a laugh. She wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him back down for another kiss. 

He doesn't say it then, but she can feel every emotion pulsing through him as he kisses her breathless.

It's not perfect but it's enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an end but not the end. I have started writing notes for another story in this verse picking up where this one left off. Thank you everyone who hopped along for the ride this plotbunny took me on. 
> 
> Many many thanks go to my person Katertots. Who did a wonderful job enabling me on this fic and beta-ing all my switchy tenses and the odd twists this story took when it refused to let me finish it several chapters ago.


End file.
